


Eat, Drink, Or Be Merry

by cynassa



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9826049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynassa/pseuds/cynassa
Summary: Mokuba is thirteen, sixteen, nineteen and Seto is Seto. Three years in the life of the Kaiba brothers.Some time, about halfway between having done the grunt work needed to finish high school and trying to write a proposal for a game that would meet his brother’s exacting standards, Mokuba had the epiphany that his brother wanted hisapproval.It was a startling thought and he didn’t have any idea where it came from but he was sure of it all the same.





	1. Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

> Note on the title: Ecclesiastes 8:15, ‘Then I commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry’, and Isaiah 22:13, ‘Let us eat and drink; for to morrow we shall die.’ 
> 
> Mokuba is in tenth grade at the beginning of the story. He's studying with 15 or 16 year olds. I've mentioned it in the story, but just in case you miss it.
> 
> Note on ages: Since there's so much confusion on ages even in canon, I take it that Seto is five years older than Mokuba (4 years between July and October) and the same age as Yuugi and Co. The takeover from Gozaburo was when Mokuba was ten and on Seto's fifteenth birthday. I'm assuming that they were orphaned when Mokuba was about five, and that they were adopted about two years later so they were with Gozaburo for about three years. 
> 
> There's a bit of background which would be useful for readers before they read the story: one is that my characterisation is primarily based on the manga. However, I also take as canon all of the anime-only arcs, which obviously alters matters. Most of the reason is that frankly I encountered both together, and watched Season 0 along with YGO! DM, so I never completely separated anime vs manga happenings.
> 
> Second is: this is post-canon but I don't take into account Arc V or anything else, including DSOD. Not because I object to them or anything but just because. You can call this AU from post YGO! if you want.
> 
> Third: While this is canon based, there are a few small, unimportant shifts from canon. Not really in the first chapter but a little in the other two. It shouldn't be noticeable, and I hope they don't pull you out of the story, which is in essence a study of two characters and the way they intersect.

Some time, about halfway between having done the grunt work needed to finish high school and trying to write a proposal for a game that would meet his brother’s exacting standards, Mokuba had the epiphany that his brother wanted his _approval_. It was a startling thought and he didn’t have any idea where it came from but he was sure of it all the same.

Not because of anything Nii-sama did. He behaved as he always had, only half in the corporeal world most days, a solid 50 per cent of his mind absorbed by planning his games and handling his business empire, which was also a game to him and one he took as deadly seriously as every other game. He let Mokuba do almost anything he liked, and Mokuba returned the favour by obeying without question when he did tell Mokuba to do something. Somewhere in the back of his mind, unexamined, lay the idea that Nii-sama was owed his obedience. 

But the idea seemed true, no matter where it came from. He shied away from it even in his own mind, because who was he? The weakling younger brother, who didn’t even have the nerve to… They were three years and many many miles away in New York from Mutou Yugi and the creepy, scary _things_ that seemed to happen around him and his weird friends but it wasn’t something either Kaiba had forgotten.

Mokuba still woke up in the middle of the night convinced that he was trapped in a card and his body was rotting away in some dark dungeon somewhere. His latest resolution was to go a month without needing a nightlight anyway. Face your fears and all that shit. He nearly lost it three days into the month when he woke up running away from some nameless, formless thing and he couldn’t open his mouth to scream. He jolted up from bed and was too clumsy to get out of the bedclothes, his frantic scrambling for the lights just sent everything crashing to the floor.

The startling noise calmed him down to some extent. He could hear himself breathe harshly, threatening sobs. The door between his bedroom and Nii-sama’s cracked open and there was a low voice, “Mokuba?”

“Come in,” his voice was reedy to his own ears and embarrassingly close to cracking. Even on the bare wood, Nii-sama only made a whisper of a sound moving. The door was mostly shut but rarely locked. He snuck into his brother’s bedroom frequently, to sleep in his bed or work in the comfortable soundtrack of Western classical music and click-clacking on the laptop or even just lie sprawled on the rug in front of the bed, staring at the soothingly white ceiling. His brother never entered his room without explicit permission.

A hand landed on his head. For a moment Mokuba wanted to shove it aside, break it, even bite it. Then the sudden rage went as quickly as it had come, leaving him exhausted. He sagged, and a deft embrace lowered him gently to the bed. A hand ran rhythmically through his hair, over and over, 5-4-3-2-1- _pause_ -5-4-etc.

Between two numbers, Mokuba fell asleep again. In the morning, before even brushing his teeth he took the nightlight to the attic so that he wouldn’t be tempted to use it the rest of the month. Only in the evening did he notice that the mess from his bedside table falling had been cleaned up before he had gotten up and could ask a maid to do it.

As rapidly as he had realized that his brother wanted his approval, he forgot it. It was too odd and uncomfortable to think about.

* * *

 

“We have a garden,” Seto said, puzzled. The monstrosity in front of him looked like it could barely hold itself up. They did, in fact, have a garden. It was half-wild since there was no gardener and Seto only took care of the rose bushes that he had planted himself. There was a stubborn vine with white, scented flowers which blew into every open window on the back side of the house and a bunch of weeds which could survive anything, but it had never bothered Seto. Certainly not enough to get a gardener who would probably have to live in-house to take care of the large amount of land.

“I wanted a greenhouse,” Mokuba said, although he too looked somewhat dubious about it. “I don’t think I planned it properly.”

Seto agreed mentally but said nothing. The glass gleamed threateningly; the whole structure seemed to be listing to one side. He had only been away for a week, so it was remarkable that Mokuba had gotten anything built. But he should demand a refund from whoever he had hired.

“Maybe we should pull it down.” Mokuba looked solemn now.

Seto gave him a long look and said, “Do what you like.”

Mokuba kept the greenhouse. He filled it with all manners of plants, none of which had flowers or anything useful. The only advantage that Seto could see was that they seemed to have a neverending supply of peaches and avocadoes and it made breakfast more pleasant.

* * *

 

Inhale, hold, breathe out slowly. Mokuba blinked sleepily at the tiny smoke rings, and a small smile curled up at the edge of his lips. Tatiana leaned over him and said, “Hey.” He passed the joint on to her. His thumb brushed her palm gently and lingered. She smirked at him knowingly but didn’t push his head off her lap.

“Hey,” he said

“M.” Someone was kicking at his side urgently, “M, _man_.” Alexei-who-preferred-to-be-called-Al called him impatiently.

“Fuck off, bro,” he said easily, still staring up at Tatiana who had stopped smirking and was now blushing, looking away from him, a grin still tugging at the corner of her mouth while she tried to take a pull on the joint. Any moment now…

She looked back at him and grinned, eyes bright and inviting. Oh, yeah. This was going to be good.

“M, you _asshole_ , get your dick back in your pants!” Someone was pulling at his hair now, and without turning, he sat up, grabbed hold of that wrist, bent it back and then pulled the hand up behind the boy’s back high enough that he, Francis _that dick_ , let out a yell. Then Tatiana was crushing the joint beneath a uniform-violation-heel and grabbing hold of him to pull him away, and they ran to the opposite side of the school’s roof, to duck into a small space that looked like part of the ventilation system. From outside it looked like it was locked, so they used it to hide whenever the authorities started sniffing around. All of the sophomores in the school had spent their share of time hiding in here. 

He was still short for his age and Tatiana was slim, but there was still just barely enough space for both of them. He grinned to himself. Tatiana turned around to face him, giggling nervously in a huff of air he felt more than heard.

Outside there was the clatter and voice of the security guard of this academic block.

“Ssh,” he murmured, raising a hand to run it through her hair. She didn’t move either to push him away or to move closer. Her bright pink lipstick was visible in the faint light coming from outside. The noises grew fainter.

“M, you dick,” she said. Her breathless whisper came from very near. “Frank’s going to whine about his arm for _ages_.” She always used the same scent, something faintly floral. He should find out what so he could get her a ‘thoughtful’ gift in a couple of weeks.

“Francis will be fine,” he said, barely even paying attention. He lowered his hand to cup the back of her neck and stroked his thumb gently as her blue, blue eyes got larger.

“You ever pay attention to anything other than your dick?” she said, but her voice was bright with excitement.

“Around you, gorgeous?” he asked, and then pulled her down with gentle pressure.

There weren’t any more stupid questions.

* * *

 

“Are you coming to the first-round tests?” Sasaki-san asked, smiling down at him. They were actually _ahead of schedule_. It was like finding El Dorado. Nii-sama might actually smile for once. It would probably frighten the entire engineering team into working even harder.

“I’m always up for a party,” he replied, grinning. He ran a hand through his hair and winced at the dust and grease everywhere. His small size came in useful when they were doing the fiddly work in machinery but it meant he ended up contorted into increasingly weird shapes and his hair got sweaty and disgusting.

“That’s my man!” Someone’s hands landed on his shoulders and he kicked out automatically before he got picked up and swung around. After a brief scuffle, he and Thomas separated, laughing breathlessly.

“We did it man,” Thomas said, still laughing and he high-fived Thomas. They went through an elaborate handshake that got more complicated each week. Kurt Thomas was the youngest member of the engineering team. He had been picked up right out of school and was working with them part time while studying, in return for KC paying for his degree.

Mokuba admired how he skirted the edge of being too brilliant to be fired for being an asshole. That, and whatever innate charm which made people forgive him, even when he pulled stupid practical jokes like putting salt in everyone’s coffee.

“It’s just first-gen,” Mokuba said. “We still have a long way to go.” He had enough experience from the VR pods to know it would take at least six years and several more models before the AR vision was useful for anything other than lab testing and dreams.

Sasaki-san nodded approvingly at his caution, and the deputy head—Miss Leibovitz—smiled at him but Thomas rolled his eyes, “Christ, kid, live a little. It’s time to celebrate being young and brilliant.”

Mokuba considered him narrowly. If he called his classmates together and showed up with a cool college kid who could get them alcohol, it would certainly up his cool factor exponentially. And he _was_ young and brilliant. He deserved a drink after a long day of proving it.

“Live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse?” he offered with a lazy smile, slinging his bag over one shoulder and nodding at the exit.

“That’s my man,” Thomas said again, a companionable hand coming to rest around his shoulder.

* * *

 

Soft whistling reached his ears as he reached the bottom stair.

His hands had paused on his shirt. He finished buttoning the last button below the collar and smoothed down his shirt with one firm pat and strode into the kitchen. This early it was obviously Mokuba but it was odd that he was up early. He didn’t tend to get to sleep before the early hours of the morning most days. Most nights he would slip out of the house after dinner and come back long after. Seto never slept until the sound of the door next to his shutting had reached him.

He walked into the kitchen. Mokuba had graduated to actual singing now, headphones over his ears as he poked at the griddle with a spatula. K-pop.

Mokuba whirled around and huffed out a laugh. After a moment Seto realized that his face had twisted into an incredulous expression at what Mokuba was singing. Mokuba nodded at him to sit where a crisply folded newspaper waited for him, and plated up a dish of stacked pancakes with sliced up peaches on top. He looked at it critically. He tended to skip breakfast most days.

“It’s eggless,” Mokuba said, back to him as he poured more batter on the griddle.

He sliced a precise forkful and bit into it. Chewing slowly, he nodded to himself. Mokuba slid into the seat next to him and attacked his own plate with gusto. He had finished scanning the newspaper for anything of interest, and (surprising himself) eaten most of the pancakes when he looked up to see Mokuba frowning at a carton of soy milk so intently he was almost cross-eyed.

He chuckled without intending to, and Mokuba started and stuck out his tongue at him.

“Trans- what- _ever_. What does this even _mean_?” he demanded, shaking the carton and then looking distrustfully at a full glass on the table. “English is awful!”

Seto ignored the old complaint; Mokuba was perfectly fluent in English now. “You’re the one who wants to study medicine,” he pointed out.

Mokuba looked insulted. “I’m going to be a neuro-surgeon, not a… a _nutritionist_.” He might as well have said ‘bug.’

Seto held back a smile along with his pride at the way Mokuba said ‘going to be,’ instead of ‘want to be,’ and said, “Drink your milk.”

“You drink my milk,” Mokuba said, giving the glass a dirty look. Mentally shrugging, Seto did. He swallowed and set the glass down.

“It’s acceptable.” It wasn’t very sweet and didn’t taste like the horrifying fizzy concoctions that Mokuba tended towards. He pushed it towards Mokuba who wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

“No. It has your cooties.”

Seto stared at him in genuine shock. Recovering in a flash, he retorted, “You ate my cooties cookies the other day.” He had licked them in an undignified attempt to keep Mokuba from eating them all. It hadn’t worked.

Mokuba shrugged and sprawled out over the table, apparently trying to see if he could have his pancakes without the aid of a fork, or indeed hands. “That was cookies. I’m not having your cootie milk.”

Rolling his eyes, Seto drank the damn milk. It was only afterwards, when Mokuba was stacking utensils to put in the sink that he had a suspicious thought. “Mokuba,” he said calmly, “give me your cheek.”

“Why?” Mokuba was clearly grinning.

“Guess,” he retorted.

“Is it because you want to slap me? But milk is good for you.” Mokuba was turning around, still grinning and wiping his hands. He tried to dodge and was unsuccessful as Seto picked him up and carried him into the living room, digging his fingers unerringly into ticklish spots.

“I will never surrender!” Mokuba yelled, laughing helplessly and kicking at the air uselessly, since Seto had both of his legs captured in one hand. Finally Seto let him have mercy, nobly allowing clemency for a worthwhile opponent. They were still on the couch, Seto on his side, Mokuba curled into his chest, still a small bundle. He hadn’t grown taller at all since he was ten, although he had filled out a little and wasn’t so shockingly thin.

He ran a hand through Mokuba’s hair. He had grown it out but didn’t seem to do much with it. He barely conditioned it.

“Maybe I should cut it,” Mokuba said into his chest, half-echoing Seto’s thoughts.

Seto looked down at the black mess and tried to imagine a Mokuba with short hair. He wouldn’t have to carry clips and bands in his pockets for when Mokuba inevitably lost his, and check for them every time he threw something in the laundry.

Somehow, he could only think about a bald, whimpering baby that he had once shushed with his own version of their mother’s lullabies.

“Do what you want,” he said, and kept stroking his head until Mokuba was mostly asleep and only murmured a complaint and went back to sleep when he carefully extracted himself from the sofa to repair the damage to his clothing and leave for office. He already had three missed calls and a number of urgent emails to answer.

* * *

 

Tatiana called from the bathroom, “You coming to tonight’s party?”

Mokuba lazily tried to catch sight of her through the half-open door, but he couldn’t be fucked to move from his comfortable groove in the bed.

“You know me, always up for a party,” he called back belatedly.

“Frank’s got the place to himself. His parents are off in Thailand or something.” She came out to stand in the doorway brushing her hair, still in a skirt and her bra, a black lacy wisp of a thing. What sort of asshole asked people to call him Frank like it made him cool? 

“I gotta be nice to Francis?” he whined half-heartedly and smiled as Tatiana waggled her eyebrows meaningfully.

“He’s got a pool. And his brother’s having his friends over too.”

“So I gotta be nice to Francis so you can flirt with college-age guys? What do I get out of it?” Mokuba asked, still mostly focused on whether her panties matched her bra or not.

Tatiana tossed the brush on the bed and dropped down after it, smile growing, “Why don’t you let me think about that?”

Mokuba found that he could be fucked to move, when he had the proper incentive. He pulled her closer and buried his mouth in the expanse of gorgeous dark skin between neck and full, beautiful breasts.

* * *

 

Two in the morning and Mokuba still wasn’t home. Security would have called him if there was trouble. If they had time to… but no, he would know. If Mokuba was in trouble, he would know.

Mokuba frequently stayed out late, but his high school classmates and friends didn’t always have the same leniency, and he would usually get home before midnight. Once or twice he had stayed out until the morning was shining weakly through their thick, dark curtains and Seto had never asked why. He hadn’t even commented that he knew, even if he thought Mokuba suspected. But he couldn’t lose himself in his work either.

He had been reading proposals for games for their new Augmented Reality module but absorbed only surface details. Now he was staring equally blankly at a 3-D model for the AR module glowing in the air in front of him. It was flawed, if brilliantly so, and he couldn’t… he didn’t…

He didn’t encourage his staff to report anything except Mokuba’s location and physical health but he was tempted now to call Mokuba’s bodyguard.

Three in the morning. Four in the morning. He should at least be using this time fruitfully, so he worked through some of the inevitable mindless paperwork that accumulated even in a so-called paperless office.

He was considering the current benefits of coffee versus the acidity he would suffer from later when he heard quiet footsteps, such as from someone who had taken off his shoes and not worn slippers. His room was closer to the stairs than Mokuba’s so Mokuba had to pass by to reach his own room. A slowly opening door creaked a little and a gentle ‘click’ indicated that it was shut.

A buzz from his phone.

A message from an unsaved number that he had memorized: “Location: Home.”

A swift debate with himself before messaging back: “Acknowledged.” Mokuba’s bodyguards tended to get personally attached to Mokuba, despite the havoc that they had to deal with. While he didn’t understand it he had learnt to encourage it, having found that this would get him better results than a handsome salary, although he ensured that their salaries were handsome enough to discourage any side-jobs.

Then he went to bed for a few scant hours of hopefully dreamless rest.

In the morning, he woke up (zero-to-sixty, just like always, at least after becoming Kaiba) but not to his alarm clock. His instincts weren’t screaming ‘danger’ at him, so he shifted slowly to his side, and watched Mokuba putting a cup of coffee on his bedside table through half-closed eyes. He couldn’t have slept at all if he was up so early.

He dozed for fifteen minutes or so, enjoying the rich smell and then got up, reaching for the warm mug. He inhaled before tasting. It was a pour-over, not from their coffee-maker. Seto sipped slowly, eyes closed, enjoying a few moments of blank thoughtlessness.

He turned off the alarm and went to the bathroom. He would have to be quick if he didn’t want the coffee to be disgustingly cold by the time he was out.

Walking down the stairs, he sipped the last bit of coffee. Shame his staff couldn’t make coffee like that. He left his briefcase near the steps and walked into the empty kitchen. He wasn’t entirely surprised when he saw that the kitchen was already a mess.

A place was set for him, with a bowl of rice, natto and miso shiru. It looked like there was dried nori as well as the inevitable glass of soy milk. No, Mokuba hadn’t slept at all.

Mokuba walked in towelling his hair as he took his first mouthful of rice and natto. He froze in the doorway and watched Seto’s hand move chopsticks from plate to mouth as if hypnotised.

After swallowing he said, “It’s good.”

Mokuba’s gaze snapped up. He nodded thanks and moved towards the cupboard with bowls in it. Seto kept eating mechanically. However hard Mokuba tried, he could rarely hide his feelings from his eyes. He hadn’t looked so hurt and weary in years. Seto had thought those days were over, that he had finally succeeded in keeping Mokuba safe from harm. He had failed without even realising it. It was a failure on top of failure.

Mokuba sat down with his bowl, and poured miso soup and natto right into it, and then added rice as well. Then he ate the entire mess in about three bites with a spoon. Seto pursed his lips. Mokuba hadn’t even bothered frying some pork for himself.

He said, “Sasaki could use your input on beta-testing some of the AR systems today.” It was an offering to let him miss school and have some fun with the engineering team which loved and despaired of him in equal measure. Mokuba didn’t even look up from his empty bowl. After a moment through which Seto kept eating and looking at him steadily, Mokuba poured some more miso shiru.

“My girlfriend dumped me,” he said. He still hadn’t looked up.

 _How dare she_ , Seto thought stupidly, then,  _I didn’t know you had a girlfriend_. He had known there were girls of course. There were lipstick stains and traces of scent that wasn’t Mokuba’s deodorant on his clothing. But a girlfriend was different, singular.

“She said,” Mokuba said, calmly, “she said I was too young. Like she didn’t know how old I was three months ago.” He drank from the bowl and jabbed his spoon into the bowl of natto. “It’s for the best anyway. She was cramping my style.”

Seto’s shoulders were stiff with staying still. How had he missed this for three months? He wanted to be… reassuring. The situation seemed to need it but he didn’t know how to comfort a Mokuba who sat across from him and didn’t even let his voice tremble. He had barely known how to comfort a brother who turned to him for it.

Mokuba finished his bowl and finally looked up. He looked calm enough when he said, “I’ll come to the office with you. I’ll be out in twenty minutes. Are you going to wait?” He offered, “I can get someone else to drive me.”

“I’ll wait,” Seto said. If he couldn’t do anything else, he could do this.


	2. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...I give you back 1948.  
>  I give you all the years from then  
> to the coming one. Give me back the moon  
> with its frail light falling across a face.
> 
> Give me back my young brother, hard  
> and furious, with wide shoulders and a curse  
> for God and burning eyes that look upon  
> all creation and say, You can have it.

The email needed to be polite, so he forwarded it to his administrative assistant to write with instructions. He also sent a memo to Legal. He looked up; Mokuba still hadn’t said anything.

Mokuba was frowning, staring down at his rumpled trousers with his eyebrows drawn together.

“Is something wrong?” He dropped into Japanese like Mokuba preferred.

Mokuba looked up and shook his head. Seto kept looking at him steadily until he started to speak.

He opened his mouth, shut it, bit his lip and then said, “It’s just that… well.” He flushed suddenly, looking much younger than fifteen, “I always figured you were gay.” He finished in a rush, and used the American word, ‘gay.’

Seto couldn’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Why would you think that?” He kept his voice mild.

Mokuba shrugged. He looked contemplative, and Seto turned back to his screen to work while Mokuba finished thinking.

Seto was deeply involved in a phone call when Mokuba finished messing around with his phone and came to sit on his armrest, leaning on him to stay balanced and looking like a much younger version of his teenage brother. It helped that he had only grown an inch or two over the last few years. Seto felt a sudden pang. It had been years since Mokuba had last sat like this. Seto hadn’t asked him to stop, he had just grown out of it; the change had come so gradually that Seto hadn’t noticed when he had stopped. In the last year, when Mokuba had been working full-time at Kaiba Corp. after graduating high school, he had sat on the couch, the floor, and the occasional table but he hadn’t leaned on Seto like this.

He finished the phone call absently and waited while Mokuba finished changing his wallpaper. Apparently dismissing his utilitarian plain black background as being unacceptable, he was now changing it to a picture of the both of them from Battle City. Mokuba was standing in the foreground, mic in hand, head turned around to watch him on the ladder descending from a helicopter. Mokuba had a wild grin, and Seto looked excited, even though there was no smile on his face.

“It looks nice, you should keep it.” Mokuba scrutinized the screen critically. Seto made a non-committal sound.

“Have you seen Yugi lately?” Mokuba asked, an odd non-sequitur.

Seto put an arm around him to secure him better on the armrest and debated answering. Mokuba would reach the point in his own time undoubtedly, and it would be faster just to go along with his thought process.

“Didn’t your spies report?” he asked.

Mokuba shrugged, shameless about Seto knowing that his security did report to Mokuba. Seto had suspected they did, but he had known for sure after a particularly ugly incident when one of his bodyguards had gotten shot and the ricochet had managed to hit Seto. Mokuba had shown up within the half-hour, and everyone (including the would-be-kidnapper) gave way like paper before his uncharacteristic fury. He had forced Seto to rest while he took care of things remarkably efficiently. Seto had never wanted him to learn such skills, but he couldn’t help his feeling of pride that he was so adept.

From some indiscreet conversation between his guards when they thought he wasn’t listening, he also knew that Mokuba insisted on handling the hiring process for Seto’s security himself, with only Isono to assist.

“They wouldn’t need to if you just told me yourself,” Mokuba pointed out in a tone that said he was being entirely reasonable.

“Six months ago.” Seto said, and got some malicious pleasure in watching Mokuba scramble to pick up the thread.

“I _didn’t_ know that. Did he come here?” Mokuba sounded faintly surprised. “Is he beta-testing for the AR systems?” he asked after a moment’s thought.

It still gave Seto a feeling of pride when Mokuba’s quick mind picked up things and put them together like a puzzle with no apparent effort. Perhaps he didn’t have a right, now that Mokuba was fifteen and an adult, but he couldn’t help the feeling.

“I asked him to do a quick run through the first playables with me. The goggles are still going to be in development for a couple of years, but we could have buildings with AR systems set up for public use in 18 months.” Seto had just got the news this morning and he was pleased to see Mokuba’s eyes flash with excitement. Getting their augmented reality systems compatible with their patented Solid Vision systems to make workable games had been Mokuba’s pet project for almost four years now. He was proud that they were so close to opening to the public. He was waiting on reports, but he intended to put the first AR haunted house into production in the original Kaiba Land within the month.

Mokuba’s smile dropped off to something uncomfortable, “Did he help? Yugi?”

Seto nodded. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he clarified, “He also agreed to be on the first team of testers for the alpha stage game.”

“I thought it would be him,” Mokuba blurted out, looking away, “I thought… it made me angry but I figured it would be him.”

“To test the AR building?” Seto asked, puzzled. Mutou had done a lot of alpha and beta-testing for them since he had sold production rights of his own riddle-based action-adventure game to them. Mokuba had never seemed particularly bothered about it before.

“No!” Mokuba looked at him then looked away again, “Yeah, but. Not just that.”

Ah. Seto processed the thought. It had not occurred to him that his adolescent fixation on beating Mutou might look odd in _that_ way.

Seto tried to feel out his way in the conversation, “Do you want me to cancel dinner?"

Mokuba was looking at his own hands silently. “I’ll tell her I can’t make it,” Seto said, mind made up.

“Don’t,” Mokuba said, sharply. He turned around to give Seto a sudden fierce hug. As quickly as he had started, it was over and he was standing up, straightening his blazer and finger-combing his hair like it had never happened. When he was almost at the door, he turned back and said, “You should have fun,” in an angry voice that seemed completely inappropriate for the situation.

* * *

 

Johns Hopkins. Closer than Todai, yes, but not enough. There would certainly be visits. During summer and winter break, or if one of his business meetings happened to be nearby. But there would be months of dreary loneliness.

Perhaps, after all, it would be better this way. A firm breakoff date rather than a long, slow parting with weekends together turning into a meeting a month turning into missed months as his brother made friends and got absorbed into the life of a regular college kid. After all, wasn’t that the point of all this? The reason he had insisted that Mokuba wait until he was sixteen to attend University, even if that meant he had spent over two years lazily causing trouble and heartbreak at his school and annoying and inspiring the engineers at Kaiba Corp’s New York office in equal measure because he was underworked. So that his brother could make friends, and be with people other than his older brother. Sixteen seemed like the right age. Young enough to still acknowledge his formidable intelligence, old enough to handle the necessities of life by himself.

Now, in a few months he would be sixteen, and then, less than a month later he would leave for University.

If he asked his brother to stay, attend a closer school, he suspected that Mokuba would do it, maybe even without resentment or suspicion. But if he could have held Mokuba to him by the lifting of a finger he would have kept his fists tightly clenched all the same.

Mokuba had acclimated remarkably to New York, even though he disliked learning English extremely. Seto stared sightlessly out of the glass wall of his office, one hand still holding the acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins in two fingers, gingerly as if it was hot.

They had come ostensibly to build Kaiba Land, and an overseas empire, but he wouldn’t have rooted up their solid base in Domino and dragged them over to a new, unknown country to struggle against bigger, better-established competitors without preparation just for that.

Night after night Mokuba had spent starting at shadows in their mansion in Domino. Seto’s old schoolroom had earned so much of his hatred that he had demanded that they burn everything in that room. Seto had quietly let him do so without asking why, but it wasn’t enough. For hours on end Mokuba would pace the entire house silently like a cornered thing, but not in front of Seto. The housemaid, Ayumi, let him know with a quiet, “Bocchan seems worried,” and with a tight expression that told him she fully expected to be fired. Seto wasn’t quite fool enough to do that, even though he disliked the idea of his staff telling tales on Mokuba.

Mokuba was tight-lipped enough about things at school, now that his little gang of friends had broken up. Seto knew instinctively that the rest of the kids would have smelt blood in the water. But Mokuba hadn’t asked for his help. And in any case, with Kaiba Corp. dangerously vulnerable and their precarious finances, Seto couldn’t spare the time or thought.

Seto was coldly furious: at his own previous carelessness at letting Mokuba get into this position, at being unable to think of a way to help now, at Mokuba’s stupidity for running around with a pack of hooligans. His grades had dropped alarmingly. Mokuba had never had the iron control Seto did, but following Pegasus’ takeover bid, he had become unpredictable in the extreme. Days of barely eating anything alternated with takeout binges, and he would lie in bed all day playing video games or even doing nothing at all.

The planning for the Battle City tournament had revived him.

Seto insisted that they have dinner together, no matter what. He usually worked for hours after and he was well aware that Mokuba did everything _but_ sleep at night. But it ensured that he saw Mokuba at least once a day. And that Mokuba ate at least once a day.

“Battle City,” Mokuba had looked up from his phone to his brother for the first time in _weeks_. “Are you really planning…?”

Seto had nodded sharply, the deck in his pocket seeming to burn into his side with reflected excitement. Mokuba’s sources at KC must have let him know. He had not made a secret of the fact that there were people who reported to him and Seto had not bothered asking who, he thought he knew. Before Yu… _before_ , he might have suspected his brother of having designs on his position at KC. Now he knew he was far luckier than that, luckier than he had a right to be.

Mokuba kept eating mechanically, head cocked and thoughts turned inwards. Then a slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes met Seto’s as he said, “ _Cool_.”

 Seto had been fiercely pleased and had planned for a spectacular night out for them both after he had won against Yugi with his magnificent new God Card, and regained his rightful place at the top. It had not yet occurred to him that the manic glee both of them were going through was as unnatural as Mokuba’s previous inattention. It had been a very long time since he had had any idea as to what constituted normal in either his brother or himself.

The end of the tournament brought more living nightmares, without even the shoddy rest his usual sleep brought and after half a minute in private spent swearing at himself, the accursed Ishtar woman, and the moment he had heard of God cards, Seto had decided that they were leaving for America permanently.

He had stalked into his room on the blimp, locked it and double-locked it then gone into the bathroom just as calmly and locked that too. Then he swiped everything off the counter for the pleasure of hearing them crash and bang. Most of the bottles were plastic and in this mood, Seto wanted something to break, he would have been glad to light a match and see the world burn. Frustrated in his efforts to break something, he instead smoothly sank down to pick up the only heavy thing in the room, a pumice stone, and stood up swinging the stone at the mirror in the same easy motion. The mirror broke and so did the haze of rage. His anger was under control again. He could hear his own breathing, still controlled if faster than normal. Then he had to get back to work before morons burnt down his blimp and everyone in it.

 A few hours later he had had the time to tell Mokuba that they weren’t going back to Domino and the sudden surprised smile on his face was brighter than the rising sun as they flew off to their new home. 

He was brought out of his contemplation by the sound of his door closing. Only Mokuba could come in without being announced by his assistant. He took a moment to compose his face, and then turned around.

He let out an involuntary, ‘oof’ as Mokuba barrelled right into him, hugging him tightly. Without him quite meaning to, his lips twitched into a smile. He raised a hand to Mokuba’s head and  leaned down to bury his face in his hair. Long moments passed until Mokuba’s grip loosened and Seto pulled away with a final touch to the top of that sleek, styled head.

“Congratulations,” he put in all his pride into his voice. He was not a demonstrative man, but he didn’t want a second of Mokuba’s happiness to be marred.

Mokuba beamed at him, and said, “I didn’t see it before, but I got another acceptance—from NY. And I could do my medical degree there as well. So I can stay at home throughout. And I can keep working at KC too.”

“No,” Seto said. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, and he put both hands behind his back to hide it. “You will go to Johns Hopkins.”

Mokuba face fell into bewilderment. “But… why? I could stay here. With you.”

And be held back by that bond, never growing into everything he was meant to be. A dimming of the brilliance that everyone who met him could see already. Perhaps Seto would have been selfish enough to allow even that but he knew that someday in the future Mokuba would realise what Seto had taken from him and would hate him for it.

Mokuba was looking upset now.

“You wanted to go here. It was always your first choice and it’s a far better opportunity for you.” He tried to soften his voice while explaining. “You rejected Tokyo Medical for this chance. Don’t give up on it now.”

Mokuba’s frown melted into something still upset but no longer dangerous. He brightened a little as he said, “It’s only a few hours away. I can come down for the weekends. Then I’ll still see you a lot.” Then he grinned and said charmingly, “You could get me a car, and then I could come down a lot. It’s not that far.”

“I’m definitely not getting you a car, the insurance alone would bankrupt me,” he said dryly, trying to lighten the mood even as he asserted, “And don’t waste your time trying to commute every weekend or work at KC while you’re finishing your degree. You’ll want to enjoy campus life as long as you can. I’ll see you during the holidays. Now come on.” He steered Mokuba to the door with a hand on his elbow. They had a reservation in an exclusive place where Mokuba would like the view, and even the Kaiba name wouldn’t spare them too long if they were late.

Mokuba looked bewildered again, “I’ll come down a lot,” he insisted, then joked, “Or else I might starve. You know what campus food is like. And I’ll keep wearing dirty clothes.”

“I’m delighted to say that I know nothing about campus food,” Seto said, he had never regretted not going to University. He spent enough of his time with careless imbeciles already. He smirked faintly and added, “You just want me for food and laundry, eh, brat?” He locked up the door and nodded to his assistant as they left.

“No!” Mokuba protested hurriedly, then a suspicious, “Nii-sama?”

Seto continued, “Such an ungrateful kid. Can’t even do any chores. Has to have his brother do his laundry too. Shameless.” They were in the basement of the building, and he strode towards his usual parking space.

“Nii-sama!” Mokuba said, indignantly, and then started laughing, “You’d starve if I didn’t cook. Or you’d eat like a college student. You’d live on takeout.” His smile still lingered, but he looked a little troubled as he said, “You won’t live on takeout when I’m gone, will you?”

Seto got into the driver’s seat but Mokuba was standing outside with his hand on the open door, “You won’t, will you?” he asked again.

Seto gestured at him to get in and then squeezed his arm reassuringly. Mokuba smiled again as Seto started the car. Good. Seto didn’t want to make any promises that he would end up breaking.

“I’ll call every day,” Mokuba said in the car, “And we can video chat once I’ve fixed up an internet connection. We can talk every day, and then I’ll know if you keep eating takeout.”

Seto said nothing.

* * *

 

“You broke up with her?”  Mokuba repeated, blankly, “When? Why?”

Seto didn’t glance up from his laptop. He finished typing out whatever he was coding and then said, briefly, “You didn’t like her.”

Mokuba shook his head and said, “That isn’t…” but his brother did look up to raise a sardonic eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘Really? You’re lying to _me_?’

Dismayed, Mokuba sat down on the couch in his brother’s home-office. Nii-sama had bought it just for him, so that he’d have somewhere to sit while waiting for his brother to quit working instead of sprawling on the floor.

Whether I like her doesn’t _matter_. That isn’t the point, he wanted to say, and hated himself furiously for the brief spark of delight he had felt when his brother had responded to his casual question with a brusque, “We’re not seeing each other again.”

It was all his fault. It hadn’t gone well when they met.

She was nice. Smart too, probably. You didn’t become Managing Director of a bank in your thirties if you were stupid. And Nii-sama’s tolerance for stupidity had never been high.

Yeah, she was nice.

Mokuba hurriedly pulled up a smile as she finished ordering and turned to him.

“Kaiba-san said you managed the deal with Naidoo Tech? That’s very impressive.” The ‘at your age’ was left unsaid but hung in the air between them anyway.

Mokuba just about stopped himself from raising an eyebrow at her. Did she seriously call him Kaiba-san? Was it a sex thing, he wanted to ask.

He shrugged lazily and said, “The goal is to have Kaiba Corp on every continent in another five years. I’m just doing my bit.” Then he added, with a pleasant smile, “Maybe not Antarctica though.”

She looked a little puzzled then smiled gently and sat back. Letting him make the next move.

She was pretty too. Long dark hair, pretty dark eyes and a delicate face that was framed by a set of sharp glasses. She was pretty in the summery dress she had on but she must be killer in a suit.

“Nakamura-san has done a great deal of work opening banking opportunities in West Africa and South Africa,” Nii-sama said. “She was interested to hear about your experience.”

No, seriously, was it a sex thing? Nii-sama barely used honorifics during business meetings back home. 

She smiled again and said, “Indeed. Working overseas can be taxing for people with decades of experience, and you have done it so well. Your brother was very proud.”

Mokuba could feel himself hunching over into himself. He hadn’t felt so much like a kid in ages. Not since he was in Domino, and his bribed-and-bought _friends_ had realised that he wasn’t an invincible, undefeatable leader but just a kid like them.

The starter arrived and he hurriedly grabbed a shrimp off the serving plate with his fingers to have something to do. Nii-sama didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss but Yumiko… _Nakamura-san_ , looked askance at him. Then he realised she was looking at his wrist, where his tattoo peeked out. After a moment, he decided to brazen it out.

He unbuttoned and folded the shirt sleeve to show her the writing down his wrist, smearing his white shirt hopelessly with sauce.

“You have a tattoo.” She was sneaking a little glance at Nii-sama as she said it, as if she expected him to be shocked or angry or something. What, like he’d gotten tattooed and Nii-sama just hadn’t noticed in seven months?

“Saying ‘little dragon,’” Mokuba supplied. “Yeah.” He hadn’t gone off and joined the Yakuza or something. He had nothing to be ashamed off. He ate his shrimp and picked up another one with the spoon, ignoring the seaweed. He pointedly left his sleeve folded and his tattoo visible. He thought with spiteful pleasure of saying, I have another one as well and I’m going to get more.

She said something to Nii-sama, and they spoke in low, intimate voices, about the market, or work or something probably. He said, “Not that he’d know what fiduciary duty is if it bankrupted him,” which was apparently some sort of punchline because she laughed and then seemed girlishly young as she kept smiling at him and Mokuba suddenly felt ashamed of his behaviour. Acting like a kid in some teen drama and trying to shock her instead of being the urbane businessman he had worked so hard to become.

Nii-sama liked her. And she was nice. It wasn’t her fault that Mokuba had gotten used to thinking that it would be Yugi Nii-sama would eventually end up with, and it wasn’t her fault that Yugi understood a lot of _stuff_ that she couldn’t because she hadn’t been there, and it definitely wasn’t her fault that Mokuba didn’t like changes. Mokuba had had years to come to terms with Yugi and console himself that Yugi wouldn’t expect him to live apart from Nii-sama or anything and he still caught himself resenting the times he took Nii-sama away. He still sometimes had nightmares that Nii-sama was gone away deep into his mind, a blank corpse left for Mokuba, and he wouldn’t be coming back this time.

Nii-sama liked her, and he would want Mokuba to like her and he’d want her to be impressed by Mokuba. And she was fine, she was nice. So it was time to man up.

Mokuba dredged up his nicest smile and turned the full force of his charm on Nakamura-san.

Nii-sama deserved to be happy.

* * *

 

“I’m going,” Mokuba said, but Nii-sama was still at his desk, plans for their September release of Dragonfire on PC in front of him so he half-chanted, “I’m going, I’m going, I’m going.”

Nii-sama looked up from his desk, and Mokuba shut up abruptly. Whatever efforts Nii-sama had been making to appear normal were wasted when he was looking at Mokuba, so lost that he might as well be looking at Nii-sama from three years ago, everything that they had been working for in hopeless ruins around them.

“I don’t have to go,” he said, voice tiny. Nii-sama got up from his desk as slow and tired as an old man and walked over to him, strides brisk out of habit but expression still far away somewhere. He placed his hands on Mokuba’s shoulder but still he seemed to be seeing something else in front of him.

“Nii-sama,” he said, suddenly frightened and Nii-sama snapped back all in an instant. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak, bending over to press his lips to Mokuba’s forehead instead.

“The car is waiting,” he said, “you have to go.” Mokuba’s eyes watered but his brother’s gaze was clear and sharp again as he nodded at the door.

He ran down from his brother’s room to the car. He looked up at his brother’s window before getting in, there was no one at the window but the curtain pressed the glass heavily like there was someone behind it leaning forward.

* * *

 

Mutou smiled at him ruefully. “I have a Go set. Would you like to play a game, Kaiba-kun?”

 _I’d like my little brother back, and about ten years old_ , Seto thought and said, “Fine.”

“It’s never easy being the one left behind,” Mutou said, quietly enough that Seto could pretend that he hadn’t heard, and then beat him in two minutes.

He bought a flat. It was only five minutes from his office and it wasn’t so rattlingly empty as the big house when he came home nights. And if it was, he could just take a quick shower and go back to the office. There wasn’t anyone to be home for dinner anymore. And he didn’t sleep much these days in any case, all of the nightmares seem to have come back with a vengeance.

The half-pint kept showing up, without invitation. Or possibly with Mokuba’s invitation, although neither had said as much. Seto fed him, listened to his nonsense, and occasionally challenged him to games that he always seemed to lose by a hairsbreadth. He learned how to cook too, because it seemed easier than evading all the questions. He would just stop when Mokuba got busier with his coursework and stopped calling so frequently. Mutou seemed to appreciate the home-cooking. He didn’t add that in his short responses to Mokuba’s near-daily, ‘did you eat?’

He didn’t bother to hide his amusement at Mokuba’s sheepish pride at his growing popularity from his cooking skills. He made a few inquiries about how exactly Mokuba was managing to cook such fancy meals on his little electric stove and got some wicked amusement at Mokuba’s expense as he tried desperately to avoid responding. He was saving up the knowledge that he knew Mokuba had gotten himself a much fancier electric cooker and had fiddled with the electric lines in his dorm for when he needed true satisfaction as an older brother.

“They’re all idiots.” Mokuba sounded awed. As if he hadn’t already suspected that the majority of people would never reach his standards.

“No, really,” he insisted in response to Seto’s grunt. “They’re actual idiots. Everyone steals from the cupboard sometime. Not me,” he added hastily at the warning sound Seto made, as if he hadn’t been tagged a ‘bad influence’ at both his previous schools, “I’m not even in those classes for another three semesters.” Then he said, tone firmly indicating that they were back to the important point, “But what did they want with formaldehyde _anyway_. They landed up in the _hospital_.”

Seto worked and let it wash over him through the Bluetooth earphones, the light chatter and the excitement barely hidden under a thin veneer of constructed sophistication. From tiny Domino and an exclusive New York private school to a public university was a big jump. No doubt Mokuba was worried and clinging to familiarity. He would settle in soon and find better things to do than call home every day.

“Hey, hey.” The conspiratorial note of the whisper drew him back. “I heard you’re playing Yugi?”

Seto’s thoughts flashed to games on the floor of his new flat, covered by a thick carpet Mutou had dragged in because there was only a mat and a single small table. It had been sufficient for his purposes, “ _but not mine_ ,” Mutou had said, flashing him a wink and adding a slow smile when Seto felt himself stiffen up, on the verge of blushing. Mutou didn’t mean anything by it, he knew. From observation it appeared his default was to be flirtatious these days.

“Ah, for the launch. Yes. It will be good publicity.” _Very_ good publicity, they hadn’t played each other in public in nearly four years now. And Seto himself hadn’t played in public at all in the intervening time.

“Yeah,” Mokuba had a _tone_ suddenly, “why, what did you think I meant?”

 Seto refused to be defensive. “I would have thought you’d be happy.” It’s what you wanted, he didn’t add as Mokuba let out a tired huff of breath. 

* * *

 

In front of Nii-sama, video chat screen reflecting a tiny version of what Nii-sama was seeing, it seemed weird suddenly—how hard he had worked to be the right mix of carelessly trendy, his hair stylishly untidy, the right obscure band t-shirt above jeans that were faded from use and had doodles on it from his last girlfriend, who liked to draw on people and insisted on drawing on his clothes if he wouldn’t let her draw on him.

He had done it so well he had ceased to notice how much work it was. Nii-sama didn’t say anything. He probably hadn’t even noticed.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, words unaccustomed and frustrating.

“Are you?” Mazaki said tightly from the sidelines.

Mutou didn’t look up. He had been staring at the Wimbledon replays for the past hour. Seto had offered to fly him home to do whatever was necessary but he had refused dully. His mother had done everything to honour the old man and informed him almost as an afterthought. Yugi had been gone so long, she had said, and she had sounded so tired, he told Seto.

“I have…” he stopped and then carried on brazenly under Mazaki’s cold hauteur, “the new prototype of the AR goggles. They’re ready to be tested.” Well, what the engineers had said was that it was nominally stable.

“Jounouchi will be here soon,” Mazaki announced, “he’s wanted to try those.” He raised an incredulous eyebrow at her and she glared back, sheepish but unashamed at a complete lie about a product she and Jounouchi didn’t even have any idea existed. No one did, apart from Mutou, and Mokuba’s and his own handpicked engineering team at Kaiba.

Mutou looked up to see them making faces at each other and then went back to staring at the TV. It was state-of-the-art, and took up nearly half the wall. Seto’s was better, naturally. He stood there despite the rejection, fists clenched, willing to stand as long as necessary until one of them broke. Mazaki stepped in from her spot in the kitchen doorway and curled over the back of the couch to say something soft to Mutou. Mutou looked up, both hands clutching at one of hers, face crumpling in misery and tears starting in his eyes as Mazaki climbed over the back of the couch to avoid letting go and held him so tight it looked like it should hurt.

Seto still stood. His internal clock told him he stood there for well over a quarter hour until Mazaki finally shushed Mutou and he looked up to say, hiccuping “I’d like… I’d like to try them. The goggles.”

Mazaki curled up between Mutou and one arm of the couch and Seto took the other end, tapping out a quick note to his admin that he would not be available and they needed to inform everyone and reschedule meetings. He ignored the politely incredulous requests to confirm the ‘all day.’

Mutou beat him at Go twice, but the astonishing thing was how good Mazaki was. Not on their level, but a decent match if she bothered practicing.

* * *

 

There was nothing suspicious about a boy (or girl, or anyone at all) slinking into Mokuba’s dorm room with minimal clothing on. Seto was accustomed to the background of their video conferences being… odd. The way Mokuba started and half-stood up before dropping back down set off alarm bells.

The boy ran a hand through Mokuba’s hair and laughed, making some inaudible comment that Mokuba didn’t pay attention to. “’Ni… Nii-sama,” he stammered, face white. Then the other boy leaned down and the video blinked out.

Seto stared at the ‘How did you enjoy your call?’ box on his screen. It was cancelled. Mokuba had cancelled his call on purpose. It was a difficult idea to even grasp. He made the calculation between speed, cost, and convenience on autopilot and decided almost instantaneously to book a commercial flight.

It took ten minutes to book a flight and tell his driver to get over to the office and pick him up, so he had an hour to respond to anything that needed internet connection. The flight over was a relief in that he could ignore all his emails and calls with impunity, even more than he usually did. No assistant coughing politely at the door, or harassed Section Head making noises about tight deadlines and extensions.

Less than twelve hours later he was in front of Mokuba’s room running his schedule through his mind to recall whether he had morning classes on Wednesdays. Then he tapped briskly on the door and waited a reasonable three seconds before stepping in, unsurprised that the door was open—he had never yet seen it locked, people streaming in and out neverendingly. Mokuba and the boy were sleeping together in the tiny single bed provided to students. Taking advantage, Seto supposed, of the fact that Mokuba’s roommate wasn’t around, as he usually wasn’t, Mokuba had said they met more often at parties than they did in the room.

More surprising was the fact that they were both more or less clothed.

It wasn’t any less incriminating a scene, affection clearly writ in the curl of their bodies into each other. Mokuba was usually a light sleeper, but he hadn’t woken yet. Seto stepped forward, light on his feet, reluctant now to wake him. He sat down on the bed beside Mokuba and realized that he was awake, or not asleep at least. He raised his hand sleepily and Seto caught it and held on as Mokuba shifted to his side and his head landed on Seto’s knee.

He stroked through Mokuba’s hair with his free hand. It was much better cared for now. Mokuba dozed and his… friend slept deeply, snoring in a steady rhythm.

Mokuba woke up slowly but didn’t move from his spot, staring at nothing much, a finger scratching absently at a loose thread in Seto’s pants.

At length he broke the silence, “Is this why you said, that you suspected that I had… feelings? For Mutou?”

Mokuba’s mouth fell and then he said, “No, I wasn’t… that wasn’t me trying to come out! _Jesus_ Nii-sama. Not everything is about me.” He swore in English nowadays Seto noticed absently, it dropped naturally from his lips. The unexpected sound woke the friend but as he and Mokuba watched, the boy murmured, ‘everything ok?’ and fell back asleep at a low affirmative in English from Mokuba. A convenient trait in someone sharing a room with Mokuba and his nightmares.

Mokuba was starting to look upset again, bending in on himself.

Seto tightened his grip on Mokuba’s hand. “You are the most important thing to me. Never doubt it.” He said it like a vow, a reminder of the central tenet of his life.

“I just wanted…” Mokuba stammered and then tucked his face back into Seto’s thigh. Seto held him tight as his brother wept into his lap like he was a child again.

**Author's Note:**

> It is terrible manners, not to mention downright odd to have miso soup and rice the way Mokuba is here. It is not recommended as a way of actually eating but moody adolescents will be moody adolescents.
> 
> I am aware that this Seto and Mokuba are slightly creepy and not always very admirable. 
> 
> I could talk for hours about why this is, and why I think of them like this, but I won't bore anyone who isn't asking about it :D. Basically, my explanation is that this is how I see them. And I hope you can see something of the characters you love here too.


End file.
